


I won't be left (dancing alone to songs from the past)

by Kay245



Series: Love interruption [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Molly, But not that dumb, But still that a bastard, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, F/M, Light Angst, Open somewhat happy ending, Shameless Smut, Sherlock is a Brat, Tom is dumb and a bastard, but still a struggling mess, there will be smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-10-31 07:16:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10894404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kay245/pseuds/Kay245
Summary: Set just before HLV. Molly is out on her hen night when an unwelcome surprise cuts the night short. Instead of quiet and peace,  back at home she finds a moody uninvited guest. Hopefully, with her years of dealing with a snarky detective, what is the worst that can happen?





	1. I won’t mistake you for problems with me

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all. This story wouldn't be here if not for the wonderful MrsMCrieff who has proofread, britpicked and waited patiently during quite some time for me to make up my mind about where I wanted to take the story. She's one of my favourite authors in this fandom for her beautifully written stories and I was very honoured by her acceptance to beta this story.
> 
> About the story itself, it is set between TSoT and HLV. John and Mary are on their honeymoon, Molly is engaged and going out on her hen night, Sherlock is feeling restless. It explores behind the scenes interactions between Sherlock and Molly and hopefully explain the little HLV tidbits that were never further address during the show (Sherlock bolthole at Molly's flat, the dig at Molly's failed nuptials).

The girls were giggling and everyone was chatting feverishly as yet another photograph was taken. Molly smiled broadly, secretly trying to brush aside the thought of how ridiculous she might look. As this was her hen night, her friends had obviously felt the need to dress her in an outfit which was way too revealing. As another round of fruity shots were brought to their table, Molly looked down at herself. The skimpy leopard print dress – too tight, too short, the only concession to modesty being the long sleeves – hugged her figure and she had spent the night trying to breathe in her stomach so it didn’t show. I have to stop letting Sherlock bribe me with crisps, she thought absent-mindedly as she glanced at the slight bulge. One of her friends clasped her shoulder and all of them started to encourage her to down her shot in one. She complied, making a show of jerking her head back as she gulped the alcohol, almost dislodging the cat’s ears headband (also leopard printed) from the top of her head. She had to admit as she came back to her previous thoughts that at least this costume was not as bad it could have been. Her friends had decided to disguise her as a “sex kitten”, saying that that was not the worse cat lady jokes they could have done. And of course, they were right. The pathologist shot a look at her girlfriends and smiled as Meena demanded that yet another besties selfie should be taken. Molly snorted ungracefully and gave her best impression of a duck face with Meena. The party was great and she finally started to relax. That was until Meena called her over to come to the centre of the bar.

There was a karaoke machine, at which she was terrible, unable on her life to sing something that wasn’t out of tune. But she bloody loved to sing nonetheless, so it was both with a self-conscious dread and an inner delight that she got up to take the mic and go sing some idiotic girly pop song that she should hate but couldn’t help but adore. As she took a breath in anticipation of the horrid sound that would soon come out of the speakers, she started on the first verse of the song. Yet, astonishingly, the voice that she heard was melodious and hit the notes perfectly. Molly startled and turned to Meena, who only smirked back at her and gestured to her to keep singing. While knowing perfectly that the voice coming out of the speakers wasn’t hers, she resumed her singing and found herself having more fun than ever before. Of course, she finally caught sight of a woman discreetly tucked up into a corner with a mic. She smiled and sung even louder, knowing that she didn’t have to worry about her awful voice and she could just enjoy it. When she finished the song, there was a roll of applause and she curtsied before going to Meena and hugging her.

Meena smirked once again and whispered in her ear: “So my little surprise didn’t upset you, I guess?”  
“Are you kidding me? That’s the first time I could pretend that I’m actually able to string two notes together! That’s the best present ever!” replied Molly, knowing that by now, her vocabulary had regressed to the prepubescent stage, she didn’t care though. She was at her hen party, with her best girlfriends and she was having the best night ever. It couldn’t be more perfect.

There were more drinks, more jokes, more singing and finally, the girls decided to dance off their alcohol intake before it took its toll on them. After all, none of them wanted to go back to their husbands and partners pissed beyond their limits and be the butt of the joke for days on end. Molly giggled once more as yet another photo was taken and she thought back to Tom. Well, he had no right to be angry with her if she was less than sober given the state he was in when he came back from his stag night. She hadn’t commented on the glitter – no doubt from a common stripper – nor on the greenest skin tone that she’d ever seen on someone that hadn’t been fished back out after days spent in the Thames. So, yes, she’d have her fun too, she decided. And maybe as he had, she’d call him in the middle of the night to say the silliest things. At the memory of Tom drunkenly telling her that she was perfect over the phone at 4am, she couldn’t help but feel fondness for her fiancé and all the little resentment and irritation faded. He’d been so cute.

She almost thought that her wishful thinking and alcohol had got the better of her when she noticed a tall man at the corner of her eyes. She shook her head in disbelief and at the slight ache it generated and she groaned. Time to go and ask for a glass of water. She’d have to start to rehydrate now and stop all alcohol if she didn’t want to have the mother of all hangovers in the morning. She waved at the friends she was dancing with and made for the bar. There she got a glass of water but was jostled by an impatient man, drenching her dress in water..She looked up in anger at the git but almost immediately, her attention was grabbed by another scene. In the corner, near the loos, was Tom. 

It hadn’t been a figment of imagination after all. He was in some tense conversation with Sophie, Meena’s sister-in-law. Molly made a face at that. Truth be told, she disliked Sophie. She was posh, elegant and it seemed that she had made it her mission in life to make Molly feel awkward. Of course, no one ever noticed it and as she was Tom’s best friend’s wife (this was how Molly and Tom had met, at a family barbecue at Meena’s family), she was somewhat obliged to pretend to like her. Molly took a breath and prepared herself for some more awkward moments as she started to make her way over to Sophie and Tom. However, she was almost immediately stopped in her tracks as something happened that she’d have never guessed at. The tense discussion that Tom was having with Sophie – she had foolishly hoped that it was some knight-in-a-shining-armour intervention of Tom to make Sophie be nicer to her – had completely flipped about. Right now, Tom had gripped Sophie in his arms and they both started to kiss each other. That was the kind of kiss that one saw in romantic comedies, she thought distractedly. She knew her eyes had to look owl-like in shock and she just stared at the cheating couple stupidly for a few second. Then, just as abruptly as they had started, they disengaged, but only to go hand in hand to the loo, stopping every few steps to kiss again and again. 

Reality that had seemed to freeze started back up in some kind of fast forward and Molly felt herself starting to shake. In a somewhat dazed walk, she went back at the bar and put her glass of water down. All thoughts of avoiding a hangover had now fled and she could only think about drinking more to settle her nerves. But more than anything else, like a siren blaring at the back of her head, her mind felt caught in a loop: “Tom is cheating on me. With Sophie. That everyone says doesn’t hate me. Tom is cheating. With Sophie…” And that’s when she remembered her bridal party, knowing they were probably waiting for her with another round of shots.

She came back to the table and took three straight shots in a row, winning cheers from the girls who weren’t singing and dancing. She then, gestured for them to follow her. Her friends were slightly inebriated but followed along behind Molly as she made her way to the women’s loo. As they entered they heard a couple noisily having sex in one of the cubicles. Molly could hear the whispers behind her. “Was it someone Molly knew? Maybe from the hospital?” the girls giggled at the collective thought.

“Tom, once you’re finished, I’d like to talk with you.” The pathologist said with the calmest voice she could manage. Surprisingly, she did a good job of it. It seemed that channelling her inner Sherlock worked well.

The girls gasped as they turned to each other with huge eyes, their happy drunkenness finally gone from their faces. Their goofy smiles turned to murderous frowns as the moans and grunts stopped abruptly and a low muttering of curses started. Finally, Tom came out of the stall but his mistress stayed carefully behind. Oh, so he actually was going to be the knight in a shining armour, protecting the fair princess from the shrew. Was he? Said the sarcastic voice in her head. Would he even try for the most inane and ridiculous line of all time? She asked herself as she raised a brow to survey his mussed hair and half-dressed figure.

“Molly, this is not what you think.” he said in a low voice, his hands palms up in front of him, as if trying to soothe a wild animal.

She should have known he would; he truly was an idiot. She had been conscious that he wasn’t as bright as he’d like to think ever since John’s wedding but really, did he think that she would believe that? Her party stood in deathly silence, stunned to see such a dramatic scene playing out in front of them. However, Molly didn’t spare them a glance, she kept her focus on her cheating fiancé.

“Really? And what are you going to try and sell me? Because from where I stand it definitely looks like you’re fucking your best-friend’s whore –oh, my bad, wife - in the bogs at my hen party!” she managed to keep her voice low, almost disinterested as she uttered the words, even managing a mocking apology as she insulted Sophie.

Finally, a movement was heard from behind the door of the stall and Sophie exited.  
“Oh my God, Molly! No need to be crude about it!” said the snobbish voice of the long-legged, glossy and wavy haired Sophie, all togged up in her designer clothes.

Molly just smirked but a voice screeched behind her.

“You unfaithful cunt!” Meena’s face was distorted by hate and anger, but one could guess that was to be expected when one caught your sister-in-law banging your brother’s best friend.

Sophie blanched as she turned and saw that all of Molly’s friends were there to witness her moral faux-pas. Molly was glad to see that her perfect posh little act had now been seen through by all her friends. Sophie didn’t say anything but tried to pat her hair back into a semblance of a stylish do as if it would save her from social awkwardness. Molly couldn’t help but feel a rueful, sadistic pleasure at seeing the woman so discomfited. Miss Prim and Proper had always made sure that she felt uneasy in her presence, being judgemental and dismissive about her job, her clothes, her habits, everything really. But Molly had to imagine that now she knew the reason why the woman despised her so much. She huffed when she thought that yes, she hadn’t been paranoid after all. Sophie at the sound, sent her a look of pure loathing and focused on her as if by ignoring the other girls she could make them disappear.

“You, spiteful little bitch!” she said pointing her fingers et Molly and swaying slightly from side to side. Tom, taken in by the apparent weakness, fell over himself to support her and Molly felt something akin to a twinge near her heart at his solicitous gesture.

“Now, who is crude?” she taunted back at Sophie, reigning back her sudden desire to slap the woman. Instead, she concentrated on Tom who looked like a deer caught between headlights. “Tom. Let’s go back to what you were saying, I don’t think there’s much to discuss. But it would have hardly been fair for me to just leave the ring here on the washstand. After all you paid a hefty sum for it.” She said as she took off the ring from her finger. She then laid it carefully on the washstand and as Tom’s eyes darted to the piece of jewellery with relief, she pettily pitched the ring into the sink. Tom’s mouth gaped open as he saw the diamonds glint one last time before disappearing. 

“Whoops! I’m so clumsy. Very sorry Tom, the emotional shock you see…” she said snidely before departing, aiming for a regal Grace Kelly.

The girls looked at the two remaining treacherous bastards and Meena soon started to hurl insults at Sophie. Everybody stayed in to assist in the fight, and Molly left the club alone, catching a taxi to take her back home. She managed not to cry in the cab, feeling somewhat numb at everything that had happened. 

Strangely enough, she’d felt guilty those last few days. Comparing, in her head, Sherlock’s brilliance with Tom’s lack thereof. She heard a ping from her phone and when she took it out, startled to see her hand was shaking; she recognised that she was in shock. 

The message was from Meena, wanting to know where she was and if she was alright. She texted back, letting her friend know that she was going home. After a few back-and-forth texts, she finally managed to convince her best friend not to come over and stay with her. If she was honest with herself, it was as much because she just wanted to sleep and avoid thinking about her engagement disaster for as long as possible as because she wasn’t in the mood for Meena’s well-meant but tiring rants. She sighed deeply when her phone stopped beeping and curled herself up in the back seat. Soon, she’d be home.


	2. I won't get mad

At last, she was back at her apartment, the taxi fare paid, last steps to her appartment taken and door opened and closed. Molly couldn’t help the relief she felt at being inside her own home and not the apartment that Tom had been urging her to move into. Her mind was still kind of numb from the shock and alcohol and she couldn't help but wonder how much time this blissed nothingness would last in her mind. She took off her coat, slid out from her high heels – strangely, they hadn’t been as bad as she’d thought they were going to be and she made a mental note to thank Meena for her advice. She giggled a bit at how foreign that thought should be considering everything that had happened. She definitely was in shock. Or maybe it was going to be alright and she’d only feel relief at the ending of her engagement. As hope started to form, her eyes caught on her left finger, now devoid of a ring. Suddenly, everything came crashing back down on her as if her life had been suspended until this moment. She took in an uneven breath as sorrow, pain and deep shame hit her at once. She wobbled on her legs and nausea took her. She ran to the bathroom and started retching in the toilet. She was almost done emptying her stomach – a lot of alcohol she noted, maybe this was not just shock, after all – when she heard movement behind her. She turned and saw a man she’d never thought she’d see in her flat ever again.

Sherlock bloody Holmes was there, in the doorway, dressed in what looked like pyjamas and a dressing gown. He was staring at her with an intense frown as if she was the intruder instead of him. As she pictured the sight he must be seeing, of her, vomiting in her bathroom and skimpily clad in a leopard dress and cats ears, she blushed. She hated it. It had been a long time since she’d really blushed in front of Sherlock Holmes and she wasn’t very glad that he had to be there for the most miserable day of her life either. She clamped her mouth shut, knowing that if she started talking she would stutter, babble and probably sob. If there was one thing she’d like for that night, it was to be spared the indignity. So, instead of inquiring about his presence in her flat, she got up on shaky legs and went to the sink to wash her hands and mouth.

“Aren’t you supposed to be with your friends for your hen night?” said Sherlock, his voice cutting and filled with puzzlement.

Molly closed her eyes at his words and tone. She’d always known that he didn’t like to be clueless about something, but frankly she wasn’t at all in the mood for a discussion about why she was back home. She felt a bubble of anger rise in her guts. It was too much, Tom and Sophie, and now Sherlock.

“Aren’t you supposed to be chasing criminals or back in Baker Street?” she countered, continuing with cleaning her hands. As a medical practitioner, she was always thorough in this and spent a whole minute soaping her palms and fingers.

“You agreed to let me use your flat as a bolthole, remember?” replied Sherlock, his genuinely puzzled voice much closer than it was before.

Startled, Molly looked up and caught his eyes in the mirror above the sink. He had moved silently and settled behind her, half-sitting half-leaning against the bath. His eyes were intent on her as they looked at her through the mirror. She couldn’t help but feel a shiver down her body. She’d always had this reaction when he studied her and she was never sure if it was from excitement or dread. At him raising his brow, she knew she’d let too much time pass before answering and she dropped her head and made to take her toothbrush, hoping her actions would cover her blush. Yet, she knew she couldn’t ignore the detective for much longer so she focused on what he said, in spite of her addled mind.

“That was more than two years ago, when you were supposed to be a dead man.” She kept her answer clipped in fear of her voice wavering. Anger and sorrow just kept washing up back and forth like waves and she felt a little at a loss about what she was feeling at any precise moment.

“You never rescinded the invitation.” He answered calmly.

Molly froze at this, the movements of the toothbrush in her mouth stopping abruptly. She once again looked at the detective through the mirror. He was looking at her but his entire demeanour screamed of self-righteousness. Of course, if that was convenient, why wouldn’t he make use of her flat? Why would he even consider what it would mean that he stayed at hers when she was an engaged woman? Not that she was any longer, whispered an acidic voice in the back of her head. Nor did she or Tom know about it when they were, the voice kept on. Instead of calming her, it infuriated her further. She felt used and betrayed. Not only by Sherlock who’d always managed to manipulate her into doing things for him, but by Tom too. Tom, who was nice – well, was supposed to be, anyway – and had wanted to settle down. So, he’d gone for mousy Molly, plainer than what he would usually go for but steady, reliable Molly. As she thought about it, she wanted to shout at them both and make them understand she wasn’t just a tool to be used, moved around and then forgotten about. Most conveniently, there was right there the ideal outlet to vent her frustration at the state of her life and the fact that those around her considered her just like another piece of furniture. But it wasn’t Sherlock’s fault that her fiancé had cheated on her. He’d even tried to be nicer since he’d got back from the dead, so clearly she shouldn’t take her spite out on him. Instead, she took a deep breath, avoided him narrowing eyes at her and rinsed her mouth. She didn’t bother washing her face, even though she knew that her skin would regret it in the morning. Somehow, this felt too intimate an act to perform in the presence of the bloody detective. She’d rather wake up with her make up caked all over her face than dispose of the safe mask it provided. Finally, she put her toothbrush back in its glass and made her way to her bedroom.

She didn't hear Sherlock move, following her until she entered the bedroom. Was it because he was so quiet, almost cat-like while walking? Or was it because she was too drunk to pay attention? Either way, she was startled as she heard his voice.

“Could you use the spare room? I need the space.” Voiced Sherlock behind her.

Once again, she froze. She almost turned to stare at him but knew that if she did it would only lead to a fight. And while she itched to let her anger out, she knew that nothing would be more devastating than picking a fight with Sherlock. With anyone else, she’d probably get away with it, but the detective didn’t know how to pull his punches and with his deductive skills, she’d be left the worst off. So, she reigned in her impulse and went to the drawer to retrieve a new pair of pyjamas and spat:

“Fine. Have it your way.”

When she finally had a shirt and yoga pants out of the drawer, she turned and faced the detective. Sherlock was still staring at her as if she was a puzzle or more aptly, as if she was a case which scored a nine. Before she was able to take another step around him, he took a step back and blocked the way out of the bedroom.

“What's wrong?” he asked, his voice deep and somewhat glowering as if she’d done something bad.

“None of your business.” She replied between clenched teeth, hoping that would be the end of it.

Instead, Sherlock frowned and leant against the door frame and asked again:  
“What is wrong?” This time, his voice deepened with irritation and a darker edge.

“Can’t you deduce it?” she replied, knowing as soon as her words got out of her mouth that it was a mistake.

Sherlock’s eyes shuttered and suddenly, the atmosphere felt heavy with tension. He looked her up and down and started:

“You’re back from your hen night early given the fact that you’re still dressed in your primary outfit and there aren’t any signs of forfeits from dares you might have had to pass – we both know that some of your girlfriends might not take your sensibility into account. Yet, you started out having fun at the beginning as you’re already half-drunk but not as much as you think – interesting that you’d think that… Anyway, something obviously happened to make you leave early as you’re clearly distraught and it was serious enough for your best friend not to follow you. Now what is so grave an offence as to have you leave the celebration of your last days as a….”

As Molly heard Sherlock deduce everything, she couldn’t help but feel a little lightheaded. This was what she’d feared all along but she hadn’t managed to stay quiet long enough to prevent it from happening. Instead, to give herself some countenance, she let her trembling left hand come up and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. It was then that Sherlock’s eyes snagged on her fingers and the lack of ring on it. She saw his eyes widen and then turn stormy as an unnatural stillness fell on him. He stopped abruptly in the middle of his tirade and the next words that came out from his mouth were a low, threatening growl:

“What did he do?” despite the tone, the words were still crisply pronounced as his eyes bore down on her.

Molly blushed. She felt flustered in a way she never had been with Sherlock. This wasn’t a side she knew about him but she’d heard about it. It must have been exactly the same tone of voice when he’d found Mrs. Hudson hurt by CIA agents. She dropped her eyes to the floor unable to stand the unwavering attention from the detective. She took a deep breath.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s just over.” She said as she tried to maneuver herself out of the bedroom, hoping that he’d get the clue and drop the subject.

Yet, as she tried to sneak around him, he grabbed her wrist and made her stop. She found herself looking once again in his eyes and the anger she found there made her shiver. Letting things go wasn’t Sherlock’s area, it seemed. She bit on her lip as she felt his gaze roam over her. She didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to have this shame brought up to the surface. She felt her eyes fill with tears as she saw the truth dawning on him. His eyes softened a bit as they came back to hers and he said softly:

“He’s a fool. You’re better off ending things now, he would never have been able to appreciate the real you.”

Truly, she knew that the words were meant as a compliment, however badly they had been worded and yet, the only thing that it managed to do was to bring into stark relief the fact that she’d always ended up with men that didn’t truly get her. It hurt. It hurt even more that it had to come out of Sherlock’s mouth. She could feel the tears gathering again and knew she couldn't blink them back for long. With desperate energy, she tried to jerk her wrist away from Sherlock’s hand, flee to the guest bedroom before starting to sob and keep the last of her dignity. But he didn’t release her, instead, his grip tightened and he moved closer. Trapped, cornered and hurt, she reacted as any animal in the same situation: she lashed out.

“And you’d know about that, wouldn’t you?” she said, feeling her eyes drying up a bit as the words came out.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Replied Sherlock with a metallic edge to his voice. She knew then that she’d hurt him, but she didn’t care.

In one moment, the tension that had been heavy finally cracked and the aggression was a living thing in the room. Sherlock pushed even further into Molly's space, as if trying to overwhelm her into submission. But for once, she didn’t back down. She met his eyes and she had a furious impulse to slap him but knew that he’d catch her hand before she could land the blow. Instead, she used venomous words:

“Come on Sherlock, how did you manage to miss the fact that he was a cheating bastard? That he was only using me to fulfil his wife and two kids fantasy? Or were you that relieved that you might at last be rid of pathetic lovesick me?” She could almost see the impact as her words landed as if theses immaterial things were real life bullets. And yet, she felt like she was the one being shot, the realisation that she’d been right in her assumptions about what Sherlock knew leaving her lifeless.

Worse yet, was the surprise that had been etched on his face before he schooled his features. Did he really think that she was this stupid? That she couldn’t deduce for herself what he and everybody had been thinking? She knew the whispers. Poor Molly Hooper, with her crush on the most unattainable man in London. Just thinking once more about the pitying looks, she felt a burst of anger. She was not stupid. She’d never been stupid. And yet, the only one that had recognised that had been Moriarty. Not sweet, gay Jim from IT that he’d been playing at but Moriarty. “Sweet Molly… So intelligent, so strong and brave… and yet, all they see is a squeaking little mouse when you’re the ace in their hand.” Those were the words he had crooned to her as she had stood frozen in terror in her lab. He had kissed her after that. A strangely fierce yet chaste kiss. She’d bitten him, of course and he’d laughed, the sound shrill, haunted and delighted. The burn she felt at the memory, shame, pride, desire and terror all intertwined, took her back to the present. Sherlock’s acute and cruel gaze on her, not unlike that of the man she’d been just thinking about, made her stiffen. He chuckled coldly and she felt panic rise. Could he see it? Her thoughts? Could he deduce all of her memories?

She was about to make another attempt for the door but his gaze pinned her in place. His voice, low and dangerous rumbled when he spoke:

“Now Molly Hooper, what is your tale of woe? Is it that I deduce your boyfriends or is it that I don’t?”

A spasm of fury made her clench at his words. While she was relieved that he hadn’t discovered her dirty little secret, she was furious that he would use her past humiliations to justify himself. If she’d been in her right mind however, she’d have found it eerie how close his thought processes had come to whom she’d been thinking about. But rage fuelled her and she didn’t let herself dwell on it.

“You bastard.” She answered with difficulty, trying to calm down the seething anger that gripped her.

At the heated glare he sent her way, Molly felt that she'd got her point across. But instead of feeling vindicated, she just felt hollow. Sherlock would not back down. He never did. And she just couldn’t explain to him logically the difference between gleefully outing the first man she’d had a spark with since his Belstaff had swished into her life and preventing her from making the biggest mistake in her life by letting her marry someone who didn’t really love her. Just thinking about it, she felt discouragement overwhelm her. But maybe, she didn’t have to. She could leave it at that and retreat to the spare bedroom and then she’d try to forget all about the whole, sorry evening. As for the winner of this… Well, at least she’d put up a decent fight against the storm that was Sherlock Holmes.

She’d already turned around on her heels, when she suddenly felt herself dragged back until she met a solid chest. She froze. It might have been the shock of suddenly being pressed against Sherlock’s heated and if she wasn't mistaken aroused body. Or she could possibly blame the awkward position of facing away from him. Still, she didn’t react. No, she just stayed there, stunned, like those bodice-ripper romance heroines that she’d always admonished for their lack of fighting back. But before she could string two ideas together, a strong hand came to her face, turned and lifted it up. She found herself staring in the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen, those viridian irises obscured by a dark hunger. A second later, she felt his full lips settle on hers and teeth biting at her lips asking entrance. She opened, part surprise, part lust at the commandeering manner in which she was being kissed. Then she felt it, the hot roll of Sherlock’s tongue against her own, and her synapses glitched, her body taking over. She reciprocated the kiss and felt something akin to a purr coming from his throat, his hand leaving her face to come and crush her hair in his grasp as he nursed her head in his palm. His other arm kept her firmly tugged against him, not letting her go. She couldn’t move, except for where their mouths met, he had her completely trapped against him and damn if that wasn’t the essence of their entire relationship. And fuck if it wasn’t damn hot in a sexual situation. The low moan escaping her throat seemed to encourage Sherlock further as he deepened the kiss even more and tightened his hold on her. He ground his hips against her and she felt the heavy ridge of his erection pressing against her back. She couldn’t help but push back, wanting to make him lose control. She felt more than heard his harsh groan and he released her mouth, pressing a last kiss on her jaw below her ear. He was panting heavily and so was she.

She tried to move and turn around but he kept her tightly ensnared in his arms, his erection a brand against her back. And just like that, reason came back to her. This was just transport, it didn’t count, not really. It was just another way to manipulate her.

“You bastard.” She lashed out once again between her clenched teeth.

“That’s what you like, obviously.” He answered back, a growl in his voice, his grip still tight on her.

“Let me go now, Sherlock. I think I’ve had enough of your deductions for one night. Now, can I please go nurse my broken heart alone in my room?” she said, trying to reign in the tears that were threatening once again to fall. Whether they were because of Tom or Sherlock, she wasn’t sure.

“You can do that or you can stay and we can have all the sex you want so you can avenge yourself against all those bastards in your life. Tom, Jim. Me. You can use me as I’ve used you. Make me lose control in a way I haven't for years. Wouldn’t you like that?” He whispered darkly in her ear.

She could feel her heartbeat rushing faster at his words and she was almost feeling faint with hyperventilation. Yet, Sherlock didn’t loosen his grip and kept subtly grinding his hips into hers, tempting her further to the edge of something forbidden. She took a deep breath:

“Hate sex, that’s what you’re suggesting, right? Don’t see how it would make me feel any better.” She said breathily, trying not to grind back against him.

“Don’t you see? Jim dismissed you as unimportant and yet, here you’d be sharing an intimacy that I haven’t shared in years. As for Tom, you’ll prove to him that you’re not second best. He’ll be jealous as hell at knowing that as soon as you dumped him you had another man in your bed. And not just any man. ME. Someone he’s a fan of – we both know how eager he was to impress me at the wedding.” And with a last kiss to her jaw, he let her go.

She immediately spun around, locking eyes with the detectives. They were glinting hard and had darkened but otherwise, his composure was the same as always. She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and noticed that her hand was trembling. She looked at it for a moment, wondering at how her day had turned out. A few hours before she had been ready to get married, preparing to have fun on her hen night and she’d reached a quiet but steady friendship with Sherlock. And now, she was single once again, her fiancé having banged his best friend’s wife in the loo at her party and Sherlock was offering her his body to get over her frustrations. She let her hand fall and raked her eyes over the man she’d desired for the better part of 5 years. He looked composed and she’d almost consider him back to his normal self if there wasn’t the hard evidence of his arousal tenting his pyjamas bottoms. Otherwise, nothing betrayed the dirty proposal he’d murmured in her ear. There was an indistinct buzzing in her head now and suddenly, she remembered the lyrics of one of the songs from the karaoke that night “So have you got the guts? Simmer down and pucker up. I don’t know if you feel the same as I do but we could be together if you wanted to.” And just like that, her mind was made up.


	3. won’t let my moods ruin this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all,
> 
> First I wanted to thank all of you who left me kudos and comments. This is the bread to a writer soul! Sorry also for the delay in posting this chapter (the most important since it is the smutty one!). My internet is down so I cannot post anything from home. I'm right now sneaking and posting the chapter at the office (let's hope I won't have any colleague interrupting me or they would be in for a surprise!).
> 
> Once again, thanks to MrsMCrieff for her betaing!
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter.

She approached Sherlock in a predatory manner, the heavy bass of the rock song playing on repeat in her head. Sherlock didn’t move but his gaze became harder, having probably deduced what she’d decided. When she was in front of him, she put her hands on his chest and started pushing back. He slowly stepped backwards, his eyes locked with hers, and still the song kept playing in her head like an absurd soundtrack to what was going to happen. She kept pushing until he fell back against the bed. Once on the bed, he quickly moved back until his head was back on one of the pillows. Then Molly just lifted herself onto the bed and crawled up his body until their eyes were once again level. She sat across him, her bum settling against his erection. His eyes narrowed and she felt his length twitch under her but Sherlock said nothing. Just kept staring deep in her eyes.

As she settled on his hips, she thought that this was never what she’d envisioned in her fantasies. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel her heart pumping the blood faster in her veins and a slow clench deep below. This was really happening, she realised. The thought spurred her on and she gripped his t-shirt, and unusually gracefully jerked him to her. She took him briskly out of the shirt, not caring much about the soft cotton and then kissed him ignoring his defiant glare. Sherlock’s passiveness was all show because as soon as her lips touched his, he eagerly returned the kiss. She gripped his shoulders, not hesitating to claw at them as his tongue caressed hers and he hissed in pleasure in her mouth. Emboldened, Molly continued her exploration of his now bare chest, tweaking at his nipples, trying to elicit more moans and groans from him...and succeeding. The rush of wetness between her legs answered to the heady sensation of having the aroused detective between her thighs.

Eventually, she had to come up for air and take a look at her soon-to-be lover. He looked wild and debauched, waiting for her to have her way with him. She just kept her eyes locked with his as she quickly took her dress off. Thanks to the cheap elastic material, it wasn't difficult. But the cat ears got a little tangled in it and she had to tug them harshly with the dress to have it all off. As she puffed a few disarrayed strands off her face, she saw Sherlock take a slow look over the very pretty underthings she was still wearing – ironically, a small surprise for Tom that she'd decided on before going to the party. However, the effect wasn't wasted on Sherlock as he released a pained breath and she felt his length twitch again. He finally raised his eyes to hers and she smirked at the hunger in his dilated eyes. She couldn't repress her smugness at seeing him react to her like an ordinary man. It finally resolved some kind of ache inside her that was rooted in the events of the infamous christmas party. She liked this. Being in control of his reactions. 

His hand came to rest on the delicate flesh between suspender and stocking but she quickly gripped it. At the questioning look in his eyes, she placed his hand at the bow of his pajama and said:

“I shouldn't be the only one to undress, should I?”

His jaw clenched a little at her words but he kept silent. She almost smiled at herself thinking that the cat had got his tongue and that this time, she was the cat, but the erotic sight of Sherlock tugging on the bottoms strings drained all thoughts of laughter from her. His eyes never leaving hers, he jerked the bow undone, his hand bumping against the juncture of her thigh. She had to bite back a moan at the sensation but disguised it as she went to her knees, giving room to her detective to wiggle out of his pajamas. Just as she was lowering herself against him, his hands surged up and griped her thighs. She squeaked out her surprise as he ripped the sides of her knickers and immediately a little smirk appeared on his lips:

“You didn't think I'll let you torment me further with that little bit of silk, did you?” he purred in her ear as he sat up, pressing their chests together.

Molly was too gobsmacked at the sudden return of his dominance and honestly overwhelmed at the amount of skin contact she was getting. She bit her lip as Sherlock finally cradled her bare bum cheeks in his large hands.

“There, gone. Much better now.” he said “I miss the cat ears, though”. He added thoughtfully with a devilish grin. “A great improvement on your usual style.” he finally teased and with a soft expression on his face, he pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

If the intention behind Sherlock's tentative humour had been to lighten the mood, it missed the mark completely. Instead, Molly was infuriated. This was hate sex, about revenge and hurt. How dare he try and turn this into a mimicry of intimacy? Or worse; to give her some pitiful comfort?

“Shut up!” she hissed , tugging sharply on Sherlock's hair.

The detective's eyes narrowed and he ground his teeth together with an audible click. His expression turned to stone once again.

“I could do without the hissy fits, though” he replied after a bit.

“Fuck you!” she swore between clenched teeth, somewhat relieved to be back in the charged atmosphere.

“Oh, yes. Do go on with that, please.” he replied with a mirthless laugh.

Piqued at the undisguised challenge, Molly grasped his throbbing erection in her hand. Then, ignoring his bit back moan, she started to impale herself. The sensation was unlike anything she'd ever felt. She could feel every inch of his cock entering her as they hadn't really had any kind of foreplay to loosen up her a bit. And yet, in spite of the anger and the hurt, in spite of everything, she was so wet. She groaned in delight at the smooth glide and couldn't help but rest her forehead against his shoulder. She felt him release a shaky breath against the crown of her hair but she didn't move. She wanted to keep this in her memory forever. The feel of him inside her, finally. But as Sherlock remained still under her, invisible shadows of uncertainty crept up in her mind. She jerked her head up and looked at Sherlock. Immediately, his eyes met hers, drawn as a moth to a flame. He was panting slightly, rock hard inside her but he kept a tight rein on his emotions. Irritated, she rolled her hips swiftly and for a fraction of second, Sherlock's face mirrored a collection of emotions, too fast to be discerned easily. His breathing increased and he couldn't help but twitch inside her. Satisfied, Molly started up a slow rocking movement, getting comfortable with his girth. At first, she wanted to memorise all the little brushes of emotions flitting across his face. But as more than ecstasy and hunger made their appearance, she realised that she couldn't. So, she closed her eyes and focused on the inner sensation. The smooth tautness of him, dragging against all her pleasure points. His breath feathering against her neck, his mouth hovering over her pulse point but never coming close enough for a kiss. His grip steady but two of his fingers tapping lightly against her skin. All the sensation started gathering inside her making her increase her movements. She heard herself starting to hum with pleasure and she could almost make out another groan from him. But she couldn't entirely let go, she realised. Just as she was about to whimper in disappointment, she felt Sherlock's hand come to her cheek. She lifted her face to him and immediately he rested his forehead against hers.

“You're so tight.” he rasped in her ear. She clenched around him at his baritone whispering dirty talk and he chuckled darkly. “I want to make you come with the sound of my voice. I already feel you so close to the edge. But you need a little intellectual stimulation, don't you? I bet you've needed it for a while.”

She moaned loudly and tried to ignore his last comment, clearly aimed at Tom. Instead she sharply changed the angle of her hips and they both gasped as the dragging sensation roughened a little. As for her, pleasure had started mounting higher and higher as her clit received more pressure. As she met Sherlock's eyes once again, his smile became predatory.

“Yes, give me your best. I want you to rub yourself against me like the little cat in heat you are. Or would you rather I pet you?” With those words, he changed the angle of one hand moving it off her hip so his thumb came to caress her clit.

Just like that, she came apart. His voice purring in her ear, his length deep inside her and his finger lightly teasing her clit. As she came down from her orgasmic high, she realised that Sherlock was still hard inside her and that despite his pants and groans, he wasn't there yet. As she took in his proud satisfaction, she couldn't help but ask herself if that was all that he expected from their encounter. Did he assume that he just had to provide his services like a prized stud? Suddenly, the aggression that had been tamed by her orgasm roared back . She wanted more, she wanted to surprise him and throw him off his little ego trip. More than that, she wanted to make him come, to steal under his composure and get to the passion she knew was hidden underneath. She'd do better than a 9 case, she resolved and she'd use all her perception of what made the detective tick to have him completely undone. He must have sensed some of her inner thoughts because his hands moved to her shoulders. But before he could ask anything with his serious and concerned eyes – how she hated that look, ever since that day solving crimes – she shouldered his hands off and put her hand on his mouth. His eyes widened a little as she smirked and holding his gaze, said:

“You know I see you. I know what you like.”

As she felt his jaw working a swallow against her hands and him getting even harder inside her, she made him recline slowly. Until he was laying back against her pillow, herself crouched above him, her hand still on his mouth. As she felt his breath starting to quicken against her palm, she took away her hand. As he took a long breath and briefly closed his eyes to calm himself, she cuffed his wrists in her hands and held them against the mattress. He swiftly opened his eyes at that and stared at her once more. Then, as the same song started in her head again, a little litany that drove her movements, she started riding him again. She knew she had read him well as Sherlock relaxed and relinquished all control, letting her impose her rhythm on him. At the unrestrained push of his hips against her, the clawed fingers on her bedding, she knew he liked it. 

Delighted, she roughened her pace, trying once again to find the delicious angle that had made them both gasp. Sherlock made a strangled sound in his throat, closed his eyes and jerked his head backwards as his mouth opened before biting on a plump lip. The jolt of pleasure it sent to her core was unexpected and she moaned a little. His eyes opened at the sound and feverishly chased hers. She looked at him once more, feeling a strange connection form between them and she broke eye contact almost immediately in fear. She couldn't allow this to be something it wasn't, she would not survive another heartbreak her instinct told her. So she retreated into the physicality of their union. And how exquisite it was. She quickened her thrusts, wanting to feel more of his cock as her heightened senses started to feel the rough abrasion of him. As she felt another climax building she couldn't help but look at him once more. He had closed his eyes and laid his head back, his throat open to her gaze. A vein beat up wildly against the beautiful column of his neck and she couldn't resist a quick nip at his pulse point. Immediately, Sherlock opened his eyes and as he started to thrash in ecstasy under her, his hands freed themselves and came to her shoulders once again, enclosing her in his space, as a deep groan was released from his throat. Molly, as soon as she felt his climax crashed into her own. This one even more ecstatic than the first as it was shared with the man she loved.


	4. I won’t scream in my head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is the final installment to this little fic. I'm so happy to have been able to complete one of my stories and once again I'd like to thank MrsMCrieff for her help and patience.
> 
> Also, Thank you to all of you that kudoed (is that a word? let's say it is!), read or commented on this fic. It's always a pleasure to see that I might have created something that means at least a little to someone out there. :)

A low vibrating sound tore Molly's away from a deep sleep. The beginning of a headache was making itself known as she turned to her bedside table and looked at the phone that was responsible for waking her. She pondered on blood who y would call her on her day off and struggled with the bedsheets wrapped around her. Meanwhile, memories from the night before slowly made their way into consciousness. Finally, she managed to untangle her arm from the bedsheets and made to grab the phone. Just as she was moving the phone closer to her face, a hand reached out over her and took the device from her hand. It took her a few second for her brain to gather itself during which a swift breathy caress landed on her shoulder – was that a kiss ? However, her rekindled thought process was abruptly cut after as a rough baritone voice spoke:

“Must be John about the wedding pictures again. Obviously his sex holiday isn't sex-filled enough if he needs to berate me into getting them every other moment.”

Molly sharply turned to look at the man inside her bed. It wasn't her – oh, yes, it was former, now – fiancé but a certain consulting detective that she'd never imagined seeing there. Well, at least with herself there too. She knew she must have made an undignified sight as she stared open-mouthed trying to get her bearings and make sense of the situation. Meanwhile, the man of her dreams kept texting while glancing at her from time to time. When she finally put some order and priority to her thoughts, Molly took a deep breath and opened her mouth. Her long tirade regarding the previous night situation went unsaid, though. Sherlock hopped from the bed, still texting on his phone.

“I'm taking the shower” he threw over his shoulder as he gathered his clothes one handedly - of course, all carefully folded over Molly's armchair and exited the room.

The door closed behind him and Molly found herself sitting alone in her bed, considering both the events of the previous nights and her room. At least the puddled piles of her clothes and Sherlock's pajamas reassured her that she wasn't hallucinating what had happened. However, she was still quite perplexed about what to do about it. Was last night just an angry bout of sex from her side and Sherlock just along for the ride? Or was it a bit more than that? Would this change their friendship? Somehow she wasn't sure about anything anymore and adding to it her broken engagement with all it entailed, it was quite overwhelming. She let herself fall back against her pillow as she stared at the ceiling. OK first thing first, Sherlock was there so it might be the most pressing point to address. However, given his remarkably unruffled behaviour – no, Molly wasn't going to let herself think the words “as if waking up beside her was a natural occurrence”, there was probably nothing urgent about discussing their night together. The engagement, though, that was another story, she'd have to call everyone on her side to let them know about the break-up. Well, maybe not everybody, but at least, the closest to her. She almost found the courage to get out of the bed when she heard the sound of the shower stop. She froze for a moment as she thought of the awkward moment that was sure to follow if she found herself face to face with Sherlock. Finally, she let herself flop down back against the mattress. She'd go out of the bedroom once Sherlock was out and then deal with her failing nuptials. Whatever happened with the consulting detective would wait.

A week after, she didn't know what to make out of her feelings about the whole affair. Sure, she hadn't had much time to think about Sherlock as she’d had to deal with cancelling everything related to the wedding and all the worried questions from family and kin. Tom seemed to have vanished into thin air or was probably sulking at his parents, from what she could surmise from the clipped denial of their willingness to relay her message when she phoned. The last news she had about him came from Meena as her best friend had relayed how her brother had confronted Tom and the epic fight that had followed. While Meena's vivid account made her laugh and cemented her decision, she was also bewildered at the domino effect it had on their circle of friends. She was somewhat relieved she hadn't realised what a clusterfuck everything would be or she might have changed her mind about exposing Tom's infidelity and gone through with the whole marriage. Yes, all of that took quite some time. However, in some idle moments, the thought of Sherlock came niggling back and she wondered why she hadn't heard back from him. It was quite disturbing that he, like Tom, decided to bail out of her life. So it was more than a surprise when she came home to find her front door open and cries echoing down the hallway. She came in and slammed her door as she took in the angry discussion in front of her.

Molly saw Tom and Sherlock startle at the sound of the door shutting. Tom immediately started gesticulating to her as Sherlock remained still, his eyes fixed on her, his face a blank mask. Finally, she saw a quick smirk grace his lips before disappearing:

“Molly! “ she finally heard.

She jerked her head back to Tom and realised he'd been venting for a moment while she was studying Sherlock. She could feel warmth make its way onto her cheek and knew she was blushing. However, she resolved not to let her former fiancé intimidate her and kept silent rather than apologise. 

“Tom, what a surprise.” she said dryly.

If the man was a little taken aback by her attitude, he quickly recovered:

“Well, I can say the same. I wouldn’t have imagined that you’d feel the need to have a bouncer waiting for me at home!” he said self-righteously.

Molly felt confounded for a moment by the gall of the man. What did he think? That he was entitled to come and go, however he wanted, inside her home after what he had done? She gaped at Tom, but he had already spun on himself and started pacing across the room keeping on going about how he didn’t think that she’d be that unfair. She heard Sherlock harrumph next to her and they shared a look before rolling their eyes. Finally Molly interrupted Tom’s rant, knowing that if she didn’t he would go on for a while.

“Tom, may I remind you that you never lived here? This is not your home and as of last week, we are no longer engaged. So whoever you find at my place is none of your concern. It would have been the least you could have done to ring me before coming here, though.” Molly said sternly.

This stopped Tom in his tracks but after a quick look between her and Sherlock, he just guffawed awkwardly. Molly raised her eyebrow, not understanding what was funny. As for Sherlock, well, he was very Sherlock-like, somewhere between bored and irritated.

“Please Molly, you don’t need to play it like that.” Tom said condescendingly. “But to come back to your first point, I thought that we could talk about… you know. I think we both know that there was a bit of overreaction. And I understand. Really. I guess we were both really nervous before the wedding. But we shouldn’t let that set us back!” he pleaded with all the charm he could muster.

Molly refrained from sighing at how dense Tom was being. She wouldn’t have said that she had overreacted in the least. Afterall, if he cheated on her hen night because he was getting a bit of cold feet, what would he do when she’d want children? Organise a fucking orgy with the whole teletubbies’ cast? She shook her head and resolved not to let anger get the better of her. She cooled down a little by taking a deep breath and said:

“Tom, I’m not letting you get me into that conversation. I don’t want to know why you cheated on me. It’s over. Let’s face it. I’m going to get your stuff and you can go.” 

Molly turned to go to the cupboard of the entry way where she’d boxed all of Tom’s stuff. But Tom caught her wrist and spun her back to him.

“Please, Molly. I understand, I do. I hurt you. But you can’t say that!’ he pleaded with puppy-dogs eyes that had always managed to make her knees weak. She felt herself relent. As she opened her mouth to tell him to go on, she saw Tom smile:

“Awww, here is my Mollittle. I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me!” he said as he winked at Sherlock.

To say that this ruined every bit of progress Tom had made was quite the understatement. Immediately, Molly cringed and closed herself off to Tom’s manipulation:

“Don’t get too fired up. I’m mad at you and the engagement’s still off. “ she bit off. Tom, now looked quite irritated, as if now that he’d used the charm, she should be entirely under his spell. Or maybe, it was the effect of Sherlock still looking at them with that stony posture that didn’t let on what he thought.

“Molly, don’t do this again. We both know that you still love me. This is nothing more than something to try to get back at me.” Tom said, still glancing from time to time to Sherlock.

Before Molly had time to open her mouth, Sherlock cut her off quickly and asked:

“And what would that ‘getting back at you’ be?”

Tom glared at the contemptuous tone of Sherlock. Despite his fannish admiration for the consulting detective, Molly knew that Sherlock’s reaction at Tom’s meat dagger theory had left a sore spot. 

“Please, I’m not stupid. You go to your girlfriend’s house after a spat and there you find another chap. The subtext is obvious: she can find someone else easily. Of course, you’ve staged everything to look like you two have been together.” said Tom while he straightened up to his full height, the effect not dissimilar to a chicken showing aggression.

Molly felt stunned. Not that Tom had come to the right conclusion. He might have an inflated sense of his own deductive capabilities, but he wasn’t dumb. The thing that really slapped her was that she had actually cheated on him. Well, not cheated, but she had had petty sex-revenge against him. Suddenly, she felt cheap. She looked at her feet, somber, and all the fight leeching out of her. At this point, she just wanted Tom and Sherlock to leave, to go to bed and if, Toby was back from one of his little cat adventures, cuddle with him.

“See? I was right.” said Tom looking vindicated as he nodded towards her.

“Fine, I slept with Sherlock because I was angry. We’re even. Now, Get your things and go. If there is a lesson in this, it is that our marriage wasn’t going to work from the start.” said Molly defeated. She really, really wanted this to be over. However, she looked up at Tom when he exploded laughing. What had she said that was so funny?

“Aww, Molly little, my Mollittle, don’t look like that. I know you didn’t sleep with him. You’re a good girl, you wouldn’t do that. No, you’re not the burning bridges type, you’re reasonable. You know that whatever happens, I’m the best that could and ever has happened to you.” said Tom fondly.

“This is how you see me? A ‘good girl’?” asked Molly bewildered. She suddenly realised that Tom’s view of her was of a 50ies stepford wife and she couldn’t quite understand how this was possible. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and guffawed at Tom’s comment:

“Of course, Molly has a double specialisation as a surgeon and a pathologist, is a respected published researcher and her paper on orthopedic deformities in seniors is considered as groundbreaking by a few people. And YOU are the greatest achievement of her life?” 

Molly felt relieved somewhat at Sherlock’s endorsement. And also a little giddy that he actually followed enough of her papers to know that they were well received by her peers. Trying to hide her smile, she focused instead on Tom. He was red-faced with embarrassment. But he countered anyway.

“Well, yes, of course. She’s good at her job. But that’s just something... It’s not like, I don’t know…”

“Selling yoghurts to depressed housewives?” suggested Sherlock snidely.

Tom didn’t appreciate the remark about his job in marketing, evidently. He crossed his arms and looked up and down at Sherlock. Molly used the stand down moment to intervene before it got ugly.

“OK, now Tom, I get your point. Evidently, we are very different. If nothing else, this shows that our marriage wouldn’t have worked anyway. So please, take your things and go.” she tried to reason with her ex-fiancé.

“Fine” hissed Tom between clenched teeth. “But you’re making a mistake, Molly. You might act as though you’re the grand prize, but we both know that if you were so sure of it you wouldn’t have resorted to this pathetic display of pretending to have sex with Sherlock Holmes.” spat Tom as he jerkily started to get his coat.

“What?” said Molly, once again shocked. But Tom smiled cruelly at her and said:

“We both know you’re not his type, Molly. He rejected your proposition for coffee, remember. And what did you tell me about that Christmas? Ah yes, ‘he obliterated you and your tiny tits’.” 

Molly blanched. She wouldn’t have thought that Tom would use the most hurtful words of Sherlock against her. Her breathing started to speed up and tears were threatening to fall. She couldn’t believe how angry she was with him and with herself not only in having confided those hurt feelings to him but to have planned to marry him. Tom smirked at her distress and she turned her face away trying to rein in the tears. As she did, she saw Sherlock come between her and Tom and look murderously at her ex.

“Tom, you know where the door is. You should take it before I chose a more convenient way for you to go. It might be quite final.”

There was an abrupt movement from Tom as he jerked back and took his things. While Sherlock surveyed his departure, Molly was trying to fight against the beginning of the sobs that had taken hold of her. She felt a hand on her shoulder and couldn’t rein the tears in anymore.

“Oh and by the way Tom, about Molly’s tits. Don’t you love how her cinnamon nipples turn dark red as they pebble against your palm?” Sherlock shouted over his shoulder, while keeping himself close to her, even if it was only her back.

At the obvious declaration of intimacy, they heard a definite clang and a swear. Then the door slammed. Molly let out a small laugh and she turned to Sherlock. The detective looked at her with concern on his face and a sad little smile as if wondering what he should do.

“Don’t worry, Sherlock.” she said, knowing that all men were quite awkward with women’s tears. “I’m alright. I’m just so angry! What a dick!”

“Good, good.” said Sherlock, obviously still ill-at-ease with the emotional display. “So, now, what about chips? I hear that fat is one of the best cure against heartache.”

Molly smiled at his proposal and dried her tears.

“My, Sherlock, are you asking me to dinner?” she joked. “Yes, that’d be great.” she quickly added as she saw him starting to buffer. “Let’s go, right?” 

As Molly made her way to the entry way and checked that her makeup wasn’t completely ruined in the mirror just by the door, she missed Sherlock’s coming back from his buffer mode and look after her whispering wonderingly:

“Maybe I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that this ending is not too disappointing. The way I wrote it I didn't see how my characterisation of Molly could have worked with her easily moving on with Sherlock. I think that they both need some little time to come to terms with what that night meant to them (and maybe some little wind, as well).
> 
> Also, I'm currently considering doing a sequel of this story which would take place during season 4 and would give us the happy ending that we'd all love. I just started on the few words, so it might take some time before it gets there.  
> Otherwise, would anyone be interested by Sherlock POV of the story? Again, I have a few words written about it (but not yet a full fic) so I would be curious to see if someone might be interested in reading that.

**Author's Note:**

> If some are interested in what music inspired this story, here they are:  
> \- 9 crimes by Damien Rice: the feels given to me by that song actually prompted me to write this story. While at the end the story sent in another direction, the song is still my plot starting point.  
> \- Do I wanna know by Arctic Monkeys: this song is for many the theme song of Sherlolly during S3 and of course, its gritty and barely controlled view of relationships worked perfectly for this story. It is actually the song track in Molly's head for one of the scene.  
> \- I won't be left by Tegan and Sara: a song that I think resumes perfectly Molly's mindset for this story.


End file.
